Peter O’Toole raised his glass. “I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I hear the mermaids singing each to each…” He paused for effect and fixed Sam’s (Pekinpah) eyes with his own. “I do not think they will sing to me… or thee.”
